“Julia Roberts is a bit too old to play me. Maybe Emilia Clarke.”

“Oh, she’s fab.”

“She is. I bet she could do an Aussie accent, too.”

“Definitely. So, who’d play the silver fox?”

“James? Well, I told you he reminds me of Richard Armitage.”

“Oh, I love him. Ocean’s Eight—I mean, he’s so delicious in that, even though he’s the baddy.”

“I love him from the Vicar of Dibley. Remember when he asks Geraldine to marry him—”

“Oh, yes, yes, that’s right and she thinks he means to perform the ceremony to another woman—and then she realises that he’s proposing—”

“—and she starts making those burbling noises.” Cat and I made the noises, then laughed so hard, I stopped frittata-ing and she stopped drinking. I still can’t imagine how Dawn French got through that scene. “God, that was funny,” I said when I’d recovered my ability to speak.

Cat sighed one of those loud sighs you do after a good laugh and I got back to the frittata mixture, pouring it into a pan and sliding it into the oven. “Okay, that should take about twenty minutes.”

“Top-up?” she asked rhetorically as she leapt off her stool and retrieved the wine from the fridge. I pushed my glass towards her.

“So, when are you seeing him again?” she asked.

I took a sip of wine—Dutch courage. “Well, that’s the thing. It turns out that Tuesday is good for him. In fact, he wants to take me to a gallery opening in SoHo.” I took another sip of wine, knowing this could go either way.

“You should go,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Really? But what about the pub quiz? And your friends?”

“We can go out with them on Wednesday, or maybe Thursday. We’ll grab drinks after they finish work, or something.”

“But the quiz …” I trailed off. I didn’t want to leave her in the lurch.

“Sarah, we win nearly every week—without you. I think we’ll be fine.”

I put my glass down, ran around the other side of the kitchen island, and scooped her up in a huge hug. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” I stepped back, a massive grin on my face. “Now,” she said, “what are you going to wear?”

Oh, crap. I hadn’t thought about that.

Chapter 4

Two wardrobe emergencies in one week! Well, maybe “emergency” was too dramatic. It was only Friday and I had until Tuesday to figure out what to wear to the gallery opening.

“Show me what you’ve got,” said Cat.

“I’ve got sailing clothes. You know—shorts, bikinis, sarongs.”

“And clothes for this week, yes, for booting about London?” She was leaning against the doorframe of her room, watching me rummage around in my backpack.

“Well, yes, but that’s just skinny jeans and tops.”

“Hmm. Besides the Alannah Hill, I don’t have anything that’s going to fit you and you can’t wear it again. Or, can you?” I threw her a look that said, “no”.

Then I remembered the dress—the dress. The one Josh bought for me in that boutique on Mykonos, right before the end of the trip.